Defenders of the Night; Encounter
by Kirayoshi
Summary: Follows 'Her Little Secret'. Buffy finally meets Goliath when she faces a werewolf on a night without a full moon. Buffy/Gargoyles crossover. Chapter one is up.
1. Lone Wolf

Disclaimers; The Joss Posse at Mutant Enemy own Buffy and crew. Disney has a lock on the Gargoyle characters. Yep, it's the third episode of "Defenders of the Night". Enjoy.  
  
Rating; PG-13. About the same level of action you'd see in a typical episode of either Buffy or Gargoyles.  
  
Archives; Go for it.  
  
Feedback; I'm still here at JDMeans@aol.com  
  
Summary; Buffy meets a new ally and a powerful new enemy while investigating a werewolf-like attack.   
  
  
Defenders of the Night  
Encounter  
By Kirayoshi  
  
(Alyson Hannigan voice-over) "Previously on Buffy the Vampire Slayer; Defenders of the Night."  
  
"I will only say this once, fiend," the monster said in an almost conversational tone. "You will turn yourself in to the police, confessing to kidnapping charges. You will not argue with the local district attorney over sentencing, and you will remain in prison for the maximum time your human laws allow. If we meet again, under any circumstances..." He didn't say another word. Instead he bared his claws a centimeter away from Webb's face, making his intentions clear most eloquently.  
  
  
  
The figure spread his wings wide about him, taking flight in the night winds. Goliath smiled as he flew back to his resting-place. His first efforts in observing and aiding the Slayer were successful. But this was just the first salvo; he knew that much. Soon, he would have to shed his secrecy.  
  
Soon, he would meet the Slayer. And hopefully she would not regard him as the enemy.  
  
He looked forward to the meeting.  
  
--Along Came a Spider  
  
  
  
"Dawn," she spoke in an unsettling monotone, "what the hell are you doing out here, alone, at night?"  
  
The Slayer's sister gulped hard, knowing that whatever story she cooked up to explain her presence in the danger-zone wouldn't be acceptable to Buffy. "I-I was out.." she stammered, grasping for some quick, convenient lie to tell Buffy, but one look in her darkening eyes told her that whatever story she had prepared wouldn't work. Defeated, she lowered her eyes and whispered, "I was slaying."  
  
  
  
"You've lost your Sunnydale privileges, Spike. Tomorrow's Thursday. I'll give you 'til sunrise on Saturday morning, but I want you out of town. I see you here after Saturday night, ever, under any circumstances-" She let go of Spike's neck, causing the vampire to land on his back, hard on the cold concrete floor of his crypt. "You're the vampire. I'm the vampire slayer. You figure it out."  
  
  
  
"You mean, you want to teach me some moves?"  
  
"Why not?" Buffy offered. "I do it for a living at the community center. Look, how about we start next Saturday? I show you some basic moves, nothing too flashy, just some straight defensive stuff. If that works, then we can get to some more serious stuff."  
  
"Wow," Dawn breathed. "Maybe I can join the Scooby Gang."  
  
"Hey, one step at a time, sis,"  
  
  
  
She awoke suddenly, her hair matted to her face, slick with sweat. Tara struggled to recite the proper meditations to help still her breathing and slow her heartbeat, as half-remembered shards of her dream made themselves known to her.   
  
She stood at the fall of a kingdom, that much she was certain of. She witnessed a priestess praying to the Goddess for the safety of the king's soul.  
  
She needed to know why she dreamed of this ancient king's fall. Why was the dream so real to her? Why did she feel sorrow at the fall of men dead for longer than a millennium?  
  
And why did the Priestess look so much like Miss Lafayette?  
  
--Her Little Secret  
  
  
  
Chapter One;  
Lone Wolf  
  
"I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand  
Walking through the streets of Soho in the rain.  
He was looking for a place called Lee Ho Fook's  
Going to get himself a big dish of beef chow mein."  
--Warren Zevon  
"Werewolves of London"  
  
The two figures sat quietly in the cemetery, monitoring a nearby headstone. A young woman named Heather Wilkinson had been buried there that afternoon, after dying in a suspicious accident two days earlier. It was the Slayer's job to keep a vigil over Heather's grave, to insure that, should the recently departed suddenly arise as a vampire, she didn't last long. Giles stuck around as company.  
  
For over five years they had become inseparable parts of each other's lives: Watcher and Slayer, mentor and student. Over that time, he had seen her evolve from a somewhat flighty young girl into the strong and capable woman she was today. Facing adversities both supernatural and all too human, she had truly become a formidable woman.   
  
He found himself musing on certain tribal customs, customs that stated that a child didn't truly reach adulthood until his or her parents died. Under those criteria, Buffy certainly qualified. "Buffy," he asked hesitantly, noticing her tenseness; she never liked cemeteries before, and knowing that her mother's body was under one of these stones hadn't made her a fan. "Are you well?" Buffy glanced at Giles, a quizzical look on her face. "I was just asking, because you seemed somewhat unsettled."  
  
"Me, unsettled?" Buffy asked innocently. "I'm fine. Just another fun-filled night with the dead guys." Giles gave Buffy a raised eyebrow, which Buffy knew meant 'You Can't Fool Your Watcher', and Buffy sighed lightly. "Okay, maybe just a little bit down."  
  
"Understandable," Giles mused. "A little melancholy is to be expected here."  
  
"It's not that," Buffy defended herself. "Well, not entirely that. It's just that, well, Dawn and I were talking the other day. She said that while I was, uh, out," Nice euphemism, Summers, she berated herself mentally. "She said that you were considering leaving for England."  
  
Giles pursed his lips softly, and considered her statement. "Yes, there was an offer from the Watcher's Council, for a position in London. I had considered it after being awarded custody of Dawn, but now I'm not so sure."  
  
"Really," Buffy mused. "Kinda surprised. I thought you missed the fog and muggy weather, having to sacrifice that damp chill for the California sun for five years."  
  
Giles gave Buffy a hard stare, but couldn't hide the amusement behind his eyes. "Yes, trading Earl Grey for Starbucks. Quite a sacrifice, yes." Buffy stifled a chuckle and glanced back at the grave. Still no sign of Heather. "I admit that I do miss England, but I've gained so much from my experiences here. I had considered making the move, partly for Dawn's benefit. When we thought we had lost you forever, Dawn wanted so terribly to be away from here."  
  
"Can't say I blame her," Buffy admitted. Giles nodded solemnly. "I wasn't certain that uprooting her was the right thing to do. Now that you've returned, I guess that it's academic."  
  
"You still thinking about returning to England?" Buffy asked slowly, and Giles could hear the tension in her voice.  
  
"Not at this time, Buffy," Giles assured the anxious Slayer. "I feel that I still have some work to do here." Buffy smiled warmly, glad that she wouldn't lose her father figure just yet. She might be officially an adult, but it was good to know that her family was still there for her.  
  
"This is nice," Buffy commented. "I mean, this is the first time since my 'return' that we've had a chance to talk. Y'know, Slayer to Watcher. I like this."  
  
Giles shook his head, chuckling. "We're more than merely that, Buffy. I'm not sure when it happened, but you and I have gone far beyond any mere 'student-mentor' relationship. This past year, with all that you've gone through... Buffy, I feel sometimes as though I'm just meeting you for the first time. Not as a child, but as a young woman. A very exceptional young woman at that."  
  
Buffy scowled at the compliment. "I hope you're not thinking of asking me out, Giles. I mean, no offense, but EEWWW!"  
  
Giles smirked briefly, then continued, "No, not in that manner, Buffy. I tend to prefer women closer to my age. And not ten times stronger than I am." Buffy laughed out loud at his observation. "It's that I simply can't look at you as that same young girl who lived for her next date or her next essay quiz. You have a home, a job, a young girl to look after. And after all that has happened to you, you've managed to hang on to who and what you are." He swallowed for a moment, maintaining his British fa‡ade of 'stiff upper lipped' cool over the emotions he felt at this moment.   
  
"Buffy," Giles started, "do you know the greatest reward of being a teacher? It is when he finds himself learning from his students. And I have learned from you, Buffy Summers. I learned that it is good to say 'no' when those in charge are patently wrong. I learned to stand up for what I know is right, and, when necessary, throw away the rule book." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I am very proud to know you, Buffy Summers."  
  
Buffy looked at her surrogate father figure for the longest time before she was aware of her vision blurring with a faint sheen of tears. She never realized before it was nearly too late how important this stuffy, tweed-fancying, technophobe Englishman was to her. Especially after she learned that Giles had defended Dawn from their father, who evidently had wanted to loot the trust fund that her mother had established for Dawn before she died. He always looked out for her and Dawn. And she loved him like a father for that.  
  
Giles absently handed Buffy a tissue to wipe her eyes, which Buffy accepted gratefully. As she dabbed at her eyes, she became aware of a familiar sensation at the edge of her consciousness. Her 'Slayer-sense' had been triggered.  
  
Her head snapped up suddenly, gaining Giles' attention. "Is something the matter, Buffy? Is it Heather?"  
  
Buffy stared at the grave for a second, and shook her head. "No, nothing like that, I don't think she'll be getting up anytime soon. No vamps involved in her death. But something's happening. Something's out there." No sooner had Buffy finished her sentence, than they heard a bellowing roar, followed by a loud "Zoinks!"  
  
Buffy and Giles exchanged a quick glance as they recognized the voice. "Xander!" Buffy became a blur of motion as she ran toward the sound of the altercation, and Giles followed after her at a slower pace. Xander had agreed to hang back in one of the better-lit sections of the graveyard, on the off chance that Vamp-Heather had made it past either Buffy or Giles. They trusted him to take a newbie vamp easily. Apparently something tougher than a newbie had found him.  
  
When Buffy made the clearing, she sized up the situation instantly. Xander, on the ground, his flannel shirt ripped slightly but no other noticeable damage, facing a tall figure in the shadows. Buffy could see two pale yellow eyes shining out at Xander, canine eyes filled with rage. "Whoa," Buffy quipped, "who let the dogs out?"  
  
The monster snarled as he charged Buffy. His dark brown furry snout and muzzle was highlighted by longer hair and a beard of silver, looking like a strange hybrid of human and werewolf. "Slayer," the beast roared. "I knew you'd come to rescue your friend."  
  
"Am I that predictable?" Buffy asked nonchalantly as the monster's arm came crashing down toward her. Fortunately the blow was slow enough for Buffy to dodge easily. "Not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer, are you?"  
  
The wolfen creature hissed and growled some more, charging toward Buffy in blind rage. This time his speed was sufficient to collide hard with Buffy, knocking her down hard. Although winded, she wasn't knocked out, or seriously injured. "Okay, penalty on the play, Gretsky," Buffy complained as she scrambled to her feet, "no body-checking the Slayer."  
  
The creature bayed loudly, pointing a claw at Buffy. "You're friend's not doing so well," the lupine figure grunted. "Your choice, Slayer; chase me or tend to him!" With a powerful bound, he disappeared into the blackness of the cemetery.   
  
Buffy wasted a half-second in anger at the monster, then stooped beside her friend. "You okay, Xander?" she asked as she lifted him to his feet.  
  
"Not too bad," Xander admitted, wincing slightly as he stood. "One small gash on the side. Don't worry, I think Anya likes to rub salve into my cuts."  
  
"Please, Xander," Giles announced, slightly out of breath as he rushed to the site of altercation. "Spare us the details." Observing the cuts on Xander's face, he added, "What attacked you?"  
  
"Looked like a werewolf," Xander answered, brushing twigs and dust off of his sweater. Buffy nodded in agreement.  
  
"Werewolf?" Giles asked. "What was a werewolf doing here?"  
  
Xander glared at Giles sardonically. "Drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic's," he quipped, "and his hair was perfect. What the hell do you think he was doing? He was attacking me!"  
  
"But this wolf was different," Buffy added hastily. "He talked. Werewolves don't talk, do they? I know Oz never talked as a wolf."  
  
"He tended to be the quiet type as a human," Xander observed.  
  
Giles looked at the night sky, then stated, "Whatever attacked you, Xander, it wasn't a werewolf." Xander and Buffy glanced quizzically at their mentor for a second. "Look up there," he added, pointing over their heads.  
  
Buffy looked over her shoulder and saw a crescent moon hanging in the sky overhead. "It couldn't have been a true werewolf, not without a full moon."  
  
The three friends stood quietly, considering what had happened. One thing was certain. They had a new mystery on their hands.  
  
  
  
She sat alone at a corner booth, her head stooped over an open book, her right hand randomly scribbling notes, recording specific passages for future reference. From the perspective of the other students at the Berkeley campus library, Tara McClay looked engrossed in her studies, cramming for her next essay test in her World Lit class.   
  
They would be partly right. She was studying intently, but not for any of her classes.  
  
Last night, she awoke in a cold sweat, her heart hammering in her chest. For the third night in a row, she dreamt of a terrible battle, a slain king and a mourning priestess. With each dream, more pieces were added to the puzzle, but the complete solution was kept maddeningly out of reach.  
  
If she were anyone else, she might dismiss her dreams, or equate them to some past trauma or event making itself known to her subconscious. But she wasn't just anyone else. She was a witch, and a former member of Buffy Summers' inner circle, the Scooby Gang.   
  
Over a year ago, Willow had told her about the bizarre dream she had, about the Primal Slayer, and how she knew that the dream was a portent to future events. While Tara had been amused by certain elements of the dream (going so far as to offer to reenact the 'back-painting' scene with her lover), she was also intrigued by the Primal Slayer elements.   
  
Willow had held Buffy's soul; that was what the Primal Slayer had shown her. Indeed, when Willow and the others had uncovered the Initiative's mad scheme to resurrect Buffy, Willow learned from a new dream that she still carried Buffy's soul. A soul that, once integrated with the rest of what was Buffy, somehow brought her fully to life.  
  
Her dreams told her this. Dreams had power. That much Tara knew to be true.  
  
She knew that the dream she experienced the last three nights running had power. It was always the same. She found herself fighting her way through a clash of medieval soldiers, to the body of a fallen king, and the priestess who tended to his body. The priestess, in every one of her dreams without exception, resembled the head of her Wiccan group, Miss Lafayette.   
  
Her dream last night was especially vivid. She could smell the stink of blood and dying men, hear the din of sword against armor, and taste the salt sweat from her brow as she struggled to make her way back to the priestess. She recalled most vividly the mantle and shield that the priestess placed over the fallen king, with a reverence that was both spiritual and sisterly. She had lost not only her Lord and Master, but one who was dear to her heart. Tara didn't know how she knew this, but she didn't question its truth.  
  
After her classes that morning, she holed herself up in the library, pouring over every book she could find about medieval times and customs. The half-remembered details of her dream led her to investigate the British Isles during the Early Dark Ages. She recalled that the priestess spoke in stilted medieval English, but also recited prayers in Celtic and Gaelic tongues. Part of her suspected that was simply because Tara herself dreamed in English, but if that were so, why weren't her dreams in a modern dialect? One particular book, entitled 'The Isles of Britain, After The Empire', was lavishly illustrated, with images of knights and soldiers, and their armor was a close enough match to what she saw in her dream to convince her that she was on the right track. She concentrated her studies on this book, sensing that the key to unlock her dreams was in here.  
  
She turned the page, coming across a beautiful full-color plate, a painting from a forgotten artist, depicting the fall of Camelot. She paused to look at the painting briefly, when she saw it.  
  
She didn't know exactly what 'it' was, but she knew it was there. The landscape, the fallen trees and smoke from battlements and castles put to the torch. It was her dream. This portrait was her dream.  
  
Toward the center of the painting was the fallen king, identified by the editor's notation as Arthur himself. The shield and mantle placed reverently over his body was of the same pattern and standard; a dragon carrying the cross of Christ. The Pendragon.  
  
And wailing over his body was the priestess, Miss Lafayette's twin.   
  
Morgaine LeFay was "gloating over the fallen form of her brother, lover and enemy King Arthur", according to the notation. But Tara knew better. The priestess Morgaine was not celebrating, she was mourning. She chided the long-dead critic who saw the figure in this painting as appearing victorious over Arthur, when it was clear to even a casual observer that she was heartbroken. She did not call out with a battle cry, but a keening wail.   
  
Tara closed the book slowly, and returned it to the book cart. A thousand forms and images flashed in front of her mind's eye, each one more incredulous than the previous. Each one leading in circles that Tara couldn't navigate let alone credence.  
  
As she left the library, she came to the inescapable conclusion that she had only one course of action. She had to see Miss Lafayette.  
  
And find out who she really was.  
  
  
  
For the tenth time in as many minutes, Buffy's opponent charged her. And for the tenth time, Buffy was able to throw off her attacker, who landed gracelessly on the floor in front of her. Buffy puffed with relief, and smiled serenely at her would-be assailant. "Okay, Dawn, let's call it a day."  
  
Buffy offered a hand to Dawn, and was refused. "I can get up myself, Buffy," Dawn complained as she hoisted herself off the practice mat in the back room of the Magic Box. "Man, I must have broken my personal best record for landing on my butt."  
  
"And you'll still be a distant second behind my record, sis," Buffy added as she grabbed a small terry cloth and started to towel her face. "My first training session with Giles wasn't exactly a boost to my ego."  
  
"I don't get it," Dawn commented as she grabbed her towel. "Here I am, all sweaty and sticky, while you're not even winded."  
  
"That's because you did all the work," Buffy observed as she opened the nearby mini-fridge and pulled out two Gatorades. "That was a demonstration of Aikido, or what Giles calls 'the art of passive resistance'. Or as Xander calls it, 'the art of creative ducking'. Basically I let your momentum carry you as I dodged your attacks."  
  
"In other words, let them do the grunt work," Dawn said, accepting the Gatorade Buffy had offered her, "and they end up looking like dorks."  
  
"Exactly. Next week, we can start showing you some moves, and hopefully in a couple of months, you'll be able to handle yourself around much larger opponents."  
  
"Sounds good," Dawn nodded. "Is this what you teach your classes at the community center?"  
  
"That and basic self-defense," Buffy said plainly. "I'm not teaching anyone how to fight, just how to get out of a bad spot. In your case, I may be a little tougher, but that's because we both know what's out there, and I don't want you hurt. Okay?"  
  
"Better than okay," Dawn agreed whole-heartedly. "But I gotta get home and hit the showers."  
  
"You need a lift?"  
  
"It's walking distance, Buffy," Dawn insisted. "I'm good."  
  
"Okay," Buffy said. "Oh, and Dawn," she turned to her sister suddenly. "The first rule of slaying is?"  
  
"Don't die!" the two sisters shouted in unison. As Buffy tossed on her blue hoodie, they heard the front door chime jangle. Anya, who had been inventorying a new shipment of wicca books, poked her head from the shelves to greet potential customers.  
  
"Now, did this wolf look anything like, uh..." Willow started as she, Giles and Xander entered the shop, but couldn't quite finish her question.  
  
Xander understood well enough. "Don't think it was Oz, Willow. He was too big for one thing, and he stood upright. Oz tended to stoop in wolf mode, if I remember right."  
  
"I'm telling you, Xander," Giles tried explaining to the young man, "what attacked you last night was not a true werewolf."  
  
"Maybe not a normal werewolf," Xander argued, "but all I'm saying is that, if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and tries to bamboozle Elmer Fudd into shooting Bugs Bunny, I have to go with 'duck' on this one."  
  
"Werewolf?" Dawn asked, suddenly interested.  
  
Xander looked at Dawn quizically, then pointed over her shoulder. "There wolf." He then pointed to his side, adding, "There castle." Buffy, Willow and Giles blinked at Xander, who looked at his friends amazed. "I refuse to accept that I'm the only person in this room who ever saw 'Young Frankenstein'."  
  
Dawn smiled suddenly, calmly saying to Xander, "That's 'Frahnk-en-steen'."  
  
Xander grinned hugely. "I was going to make espresso!" This got Dawn laughing loudly, until she threw her arms into the air, shouting gleefully, "HE VAS MY BOYFRIEND!"  
  
"Okay, Frau Blucher," Buffy mock-scolded her sister. "Weren't you heading home to hit the showers?"   
  
"Later guys," Dawn chirped as she ducked out the door. As the door chime jingled at her departure, Buffy raised an eyebrow toward her friends. "So, we still talking about last night's run-in?"  
  
Buffy took her regular chair at the main table, with Xander, Willow and Anya close at hand. It was time to brainstorm. "Okay guys, we need ideas. Anyone want to start?"  
  
Giles ducked behind his private bookshelf, emerging ten seconds later with a large dusty tome. He brought the book to the table, and cracked it open. "If we're dealing with a werewolf, he is in possession of some sort of powerful magic, or other assistance. Some manner of maintaining his lupine form at will, at any time."  
  
"Kinda like the Gem of Ammara?" Buffy asked. The others remembered when Spike got his hands on the Gem, using its power to ward off the light of day.  
  
"Maybe he's somehow learned to control the transformation," Willow offered. "When Oz was here last time, he said he learned how to tame the wolf from a Tibetan monk. Maybe this guy learned how to unleash the wolf at will."  
  
"Or," Xander mused softly, "we're dealing with some kind of man-made werewolf." The others looked at him, hoping he would elaborate. "I mean like some sort of mutation or augmentation process, kinda like the Initiative's super-soldiers programs."  
  
"All of this speculation is well and good," Giles answered as he scanned the tome in his hands, "but without evidence, it doesn't do us much good. I'll start by going over my old lore about werewolves, hopefully find some sort of connection to our hirsute friend from last night."  
  
Willow pulled her ever-present laptop computer out of her gym bag and plugged it into a nearby phone jack. "I'll go online and see if there have been any werewolf attacks in or around Sunnydale recently."  
  
Xander made for the door, saying, "I'll be back in ten with the donuts."  
  
"And I'll man the cash-register," Anya said as Xander left. When Giles shot her a sardonic look, she added, "Well, someone has to at least look like we're making money here."  
  
Giles smirked slightly as he observed Anya at the cash register. "I would advise extra caution," Giles said to Buffy as the research party commenced. "Until we know what we're dealing with, at any rate. If our friend is immune to the phases of the moon, he may also be immune to silver blades and bullets."  
  
"And on that cheery note," Buffy quipped, as she stood up from her seat, "I have to head out. My self-defense classes drew more students than the community center originally thought, so I agreed to give a Saturday class for the next six weeks also."  
  
"Good for you," Anya chirped from behind the cash register. "More money for you."  
  
Buffy grinned at Xander's fianc‚e; listening to Anya talk about money, she started to wonder if she preferred it when she only talked about sex. "Later, all. If I see tall, dark and lupine tonight, I'll be on the defense." She waved a goodbye to her friends, and headed out to the community center.  
  
  
  
The sun was setting over Wetherly Park, and the wiser Sunnydale citizens were heading for their homes, before the local nightlife arose. Those who were still about at night had their reasons to remain out in the darkness and danger of a Sunnydale night.  
  
He had his reasons.  
  
He hated his current employer, and knew that she hated him. However, he was a professional merc, and her money spent just as well as anyone's. When she hired him to track and eliminate a woman named Buffy Summers, also known as the Slayer, he accepted the assignment without any qualms. A job was a job.  
  
He hid in shadows, blending with his surroundings like the predatory mammal with whom he shared his name. He sniffed and listened, constantly seeking his prey. He knew she would be here; his quarry was predictable.  
  
When he was hired to kill the Slayer, he started by observing her in secret. Given his physical appearance, spying was difficult, but he was able to watch her from a distance. Within a week, he was able to ascertain her habits, her routines; driving her sister to school, visiting a local magic shop, then her job at the Community Center, then home. He made his first contact with his prey last night, to test her, to get a feel for what she was capable of as a fighter. She was good; he gave her that. But he was better.   
  
He knew her strength, he knew her tendency to favor her right side, and he knew her habits. After dark, she would go on her nightly patrols. She would start with Whetherly Park, then move one of the local cemeteries.  
  
His incisors itched, extending in anticipation. The sun was down, and his quarry would be coming soon.  
  
And if there was one thing that Wolf prided himself on, it was the fact that he never left a job unfinished.  
  
  
  
"Hey, Buffy," Willow's voice bubbled happily over Buffy's cellular, "any signs of that new werewolf yet?"  
  
"None yet," Buffy answered. "All's quiet on the Sunnydale front. How's Dawn?"  
  
"We just spent ten minutes negotiating for math homework time. When I hang up, I'm gonna check up on her."  
  
Buffy chuckled briefly. "Remind her that her continued self-defense classes depend on her maintaining her grade point average."  
  
"Will do, Slayer," Willow answered. "Take care of yourself."  
  
"I always do, Willow. Buffy out." Pocketing off her cel-phone, Buffy found herself smiling as her mind again wandered to thoughts of her Wiccan best friend. Her sparkling emerald eyes, her sweet smile, the soft red hair that practically begged for a hand to run through it...  
  
She halted that line of thought quickly, and with no small amount of effort. Bad Buffy, bad, bad Buffy!  
  
Bad, hopelessly in love with my best friend Buffy!  
  
Buffy shook her head vigorously, forcing her increasingly heated imaginings out of her head. She was not going to stand between Willow and Tara, no matter what she felt for Willow. She had no intentions of risking the best thing that had ever happened to her, for a moment's lust. Willow was her friend, her companion, her partner in Slaying, her moral compass. That was enough.  
  
It had to be.  
  
A sudden snap of a twig behind her was all the warning she had, but it was enough. She spun on her left heel, her right leg kicking forward, connecting hard with the charging figure behind her. The beast flew backward, landing hard on his rump, but rolled with the impact and rose quickly to his feet. Buffy now saw her adversary more clearly. It was the werewolf from last night. He hissed his anger at Buffy, a mace clutched menacingly in his right hand. "Slayer," he snarled. "You still owe me a dance from last night!"  
  
Buffy took her preferred fighting stance; legs apart, knees bent, arms loose and raised at her sides. "I'll lead," she announced.   
  
Her attacker howled, gesturing with his mace, beckoning Buffy forward. "Bring it on, little girl."  
  
Buffy said nothing as she circled her opponent. He was large, strong and angry; he had rage and speed on his side. She paced around him, her eyes level and icy as she read her opponent, her arms up and in front of her, ready to defend herself. She waited for him to make the first move.  
  
He obliged her, charging forward with a deafening roar, his weapon raised over his head. Despite his speed, Buffy was able to evade his attack with ease. He swung the mace wide and down swiftly, ramming it into the sidewalk where Buffy had stood. "Yoo hoo," Buffy cajoled in a mocking tone. "Over here, Shaggy!"  
  
The wolf spun around, charging toward Buffy again. This time, Buffy stood her ground as the beast bared down on her. As the mace hurtled toward her, she dodged to her right and grabbed the wolf's arm, dragging him off his balance. As he started to fall forward, Buffy spun around, pinned the wolf's arm over her shoulder and bent forward, throwing him over her shoulder and onto the ground in front of her, hard.  
  
Buffy stood over her fallen foe, watching for signs of movement. The lupine figure lay motionless, eyes closed, and breath shallow and steady. Confident that he was unconscious, Buffy pulled out her cellular, and started to dial Giles' number. She hoped he could help her prepare a vacant crypt, or garage, or somewhere to imprison the beast before he awakened.   
  
Turning away for the briefest of moments, she didn't see him roll onto his back, tuck his legs up to his chest, and suddenly thrust his legs forward. The impact of his heels against her chin sent her reeling, unprepared for his next maneuver. A clawed hand raked her cheek, blinding her with lancing pain. "I'd warn you to keep your guard up next time, Slayer," the beast growled, "but you've just run out of next times."  
  
"Say that about yourself, Wolf!"  
  
The voice boomed out of the night air, reverberating around the two combatants. Buffy glanced up, her vision still red-misted with pain from the cuts on her cheek. Even if her sight weren't clouded by pain she wouldn't have credited what she saw.  
  
A dark shape dropped down on her attacker, bat-like wings spread wide, obscuring the moon overhead. The figure landed hard on the wolf, grabbed his arms, then tumbled forward, taking the wolf with him. The monster then threw the wolf against a nearby tree.  
  
As the wolf scrambled to his feet, the monster addressed him in a roar; "You've lost this battle before it began, Wolf! Buffy Summers and those close to her are under my protection! Tell your mistress that I will consider any attack on them an attack on myself, and respond accordingly!"  
  
Wolf stood up on shaky legs, his yellow eyes red-rimmed with hatred. "You can only protect her at night, Goliath! And the one you have pledged to protect needs medical attention! Your choice; chase me, or save her!" He turned away and ran swiftly from the monster, in a strange loping gait.  
  
The monster then turned to Buffy, silently muttering "No choice at all, Wolf." Buffy blinked as the pain receded, and for the first time was able to see her rescuer clearly. He stood nearly seven feet tall, with a muscular frame covered in a leathery, dark lavender hide, covered only by a leather loincloth, cinched by a wide belt. His legs resembled a dog's hindquarters, and terminated in huge clawed feet. His wings draped over his shoulders and down his sides like a cloak, and a wide tail waived behind him. Long black hair framed a strong face, his eyes' yellow glow fading to reveal sharp blue irises.  
  
He approached Buffy slowly, seeing the hesitance in her face. Withdrawing a pouch that hung from his belt, he said in the softest tones he possessed, "Do not fear, Buffy Summers. I am no enemy."  
  
Buffy regarded the monster with cautious eyes. He opened the pouch, and took out a small container. "This is an antibiotic, for those cuts on your face. They don't look very deep, and the bleeding seems to have stopped. Wolf's claws are painful, but the cut doesn't look infected." Opening the container, he scooped a fingerful of the ointment, and looked again at Buffy. "Do you trust me?"  
  
Buffy looked at the figure that stooped beside her for a moment before nodding once. As he applied the antibiotic to her face, Buffy said, "Okay, you're the first thing I've seen around the Hellmouth with wings. Who, or what, are you?"  
  
"I am called Goliath."  
  
Buffy appraised Goliath briefly, then allowed a slight smile to escape her face. "I can see why. So, what brings you to Sunnydale, Home of the Big Brewin' Evil?"  
  
"I came to protect you," Goliath answered, as he finished applying the ointment. "And to warn you. A powerful enemy has come here, one who seeks the destruction of all humanity. What she seeks is here, near the Hellmouth. And she will come for you, soon."  
  
"And you're here to help me?" Buffy asked. "Forgive me, but I don't get a lot of help from demons. Why do you want to help me?"  
  
Goliath smirked slightly as he rose to his feet. "Young lady," he spoke, somewhat louder than before, "I am no demon, I am a Gargoyle. And a Gargoyle's nature is to protect." Aiding Buffy to her feet, he continued; "The antibiotic will allow your cuts to heal quickly, without scarring. I must leave soon, for I have much to do before the sunrise." He pulled a business card out of the pouch, and handed it gravely to Buffy. "Please meet me at this address tomorrow. I will explain everything then." His wings unfolded, spreading wide about him. He turned and bounded away at a fast running pace. Ten steps away, he leapt, allowing his wings to catch the breeze and carry him aloft.  
  
Buffy watched the diminishing form of the soaring Gargoyle, and scratched her head. "You see something new everyday here, dontcha?" 


	2. Meeting of Minds

Chapter Two

Meeting of Minds

_"Oh East is East and West is West and never the twain shall meet,_

_Until Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great judgement seat._

_But there be neither East nor West, border nor breed nor birth,_

_When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends of the earth."___

_--Rudyard Kipling_

_"The Ballad of East and West"_

"Hello, honey," David Xanatos spoke from his hotel suite at the Regency Hotel.

"Hey, babe," the sultry voice flowed from the phone speaker.  "Miss me?" 

"Every day, Fox," David answered, "and as soon as my business in Sunnydale is over, I'll be in a better position to demonstrate how much."

"Can't wait, David.  How's the construction going?" 

"We break ground tomorrow," David announced.  "I have confidence in the foreman for the project.  Xander Harris reminds me of myself at that age."

"You mean he's young, cocky and his name starts with an 'X'?"

"That too," David chuckled.  "I'm still waiting to meet Miss Summers."

"So your real business in Sunnydale can begin?"

"Exactly."  He didn't bother to say anymore, both he and his wife knew what was at stake if the Slayer didn't agree to help him.  "So," he spoke after a beat, "how are things in New York?"

"Smooth as silk, David," Fox answered.  "Xanatos Industries posted gains on both the NYSE and NASDAQ reports this week."

"I read that in the financial section today," David said.  "I want the important news.  How's Alexander?" 

"He's doing very well."  David could swear he heard Fox smile over the phone.  "I spoke with his second-grade teacher the other day, and he's excelling in his classes."

"He's a smart kid, our son," David bragged quietly.

"Yeah, too smart," Fox replied.  "He knows something is up.  Something big.  He misses his Daddy."  In a hushed, passionate whisper, Fox added, "So does his Mommy."

"And I miss you both, Fox.  If my concerns in Sunnydale weren't so vital…" 

  
"But they are, honey," Fox conceded.  "You do what you gotta do, and I'll hold down the fort here in Manhattan.  I love you, David."

"Oh, so that's why you married me," David joked.

"The fact that you're worth billions was also a strong incentive," Fox fired back.

David was grateful for the ability to laugh, even in the face of deadly danger.  "I love you too, honey.  I'll talk to you tomorrow."  After a final exchange of romantic pleasantries, David hung up the phone.  Sitting quietly in his suite, he contemplated his plans.  With Xanatos Industries expanding in California, he would have to shuttle between his corporate HQ in Manhattan and a new office in Sunnydale.  That would put a strain on his marriage, he knew that.  But he vowed to make his family his top priority, no matter what happened.

It was the other reason for his being in Sunnydale that concerned him.  His real reason.

Buffy.

He stepped out on the balcony, admiring the view of the city below him.  A peaceful silence descended over the buildings and residences of Sunnydale, a peace that David knew to be a lie.  There was a war going on down there, a war for the lives and souls of every man, woman and child who lived.  A war being fought by one remarkable young woman.

A war that was now being joined by a different breed of warrior.

A familiar winged shadow overhead caught David's eye.  He glanced up and saw the dark form swooping toward the balcony.  He backed away, allowing the winged figure to alight next to him.  No matter how many times he saw it, he was still amazed at how such a powerful being could glide so gracefully and land so effortlessly.  But then, it was the nature of the species.

As the figure touched down on the balcony and folded his wings about him, David greeted his guest.  "So, Goliath, how was the patrol?"

"Eventful, Xanatos," Goliath spoke in a low rumble.  "I encountered the Slayer."

David nodded slowly; he had been expecting this eventually.  "How did it go?" 

"She was skeptical," Goliath answered.  "But I believe I piqued her interest.  I gave her the card for the Regency hotel, and told her to meet me here tomorrow evening."  

He paused for a moment, long enough for David to become curious.  "Something else, old friend?"

Goliath turned to face David.  "She fought against Wolf."

"Wolf?" David gasped.  "That idiot mercenary?  Don't tell me that he's working for…"

"I wouldn't be a bit surprised," Goliath shrugged his broad shoulders in thought.  "After all, he goes where the money is."  Stepping toward the edge of the balcony, Goliath let his wings spread to his sides.  "I'm going to patrol again.  Wolf raked Buffy's face, and I gave her some ointment for her cuts, but if she is sensible, she will return home to rest."

"Can't let the local nightlife get uppity, can we?" David observed.

"As long as I am here," Goliath said simply as he prepared to take off again, "Sunnydale falls under my protection."  With those words, he leapt off the balcony, allowing the prevailing winds to bear him aloft as he flew away.

David watched with awe and confidence as Goliath flew to face the evils of the Sunnydale night.  "Give 'em Hell, Big guy!"

"…In local news, construction began today for the new Xanatos West computer company headquarters.  Electronics pioneer David Xanatos, seen here with project foreman Alexander Harris…"

"There's Xander!" Anya squealed with pride as the television news showed Xander shaking hands with the young billionaire.  

"Mr. Xanatos is a lot shorter than he looks on TV," Xander commented, only to be shushed by Giles.  

"…the new computer company will provide hundreds of new jobs in the field of electronics, and is considered a boon to the economic expansion of Sunnydale.  In other news..[click]"

"Project foreman," Giles mused aloud.  "I must say, you have progressed in your construction firm."

"Yeah," Xander blushed at Giles' rare demonstration of praise.  "Mr. Brubaker was busy with expansion of the Sunnydale Mall, so he left me in charge of Xanatos West.  Pretty heavy stuff, but hey, after the Mayor, Adam and Glory, this is cake!" Hugging Anya to him, he added, "besides, with the baby on the way, we need the money."

"And since you haven't been forthcoming with the raises," Anya remarked, casting a sidelong glance at Giles, who suddenly scowled at his employee.

"Uh, Anya," Xander took his fiancée aside for a moment, "what did I tell you about tact in financial matters?"  Anya glared hard and Xander, who rolled his eyes.  Turning to Giles, he added, "Morning sickness."

"And that's another thing," Anya chimed in.  "Why do they call it morning sickness if I've got it all day?" 

Before Giles could answer that question, the front door wind chimes tinkled.  Giles emerged from the back room, watching as Buffy, Willow and Dawn strolled into the shop.  Willow spoke in worried tones to her best friend; "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Willow," Buffy answered.  "He just clawed me, he didn't bite me.  I'm not gonna go all 'grr' on the next full moon."

"Wait a minute," Giles interrupted, "what happened?  Did you encounter that werewolf creature from the other night again?"

"Yeah," Buffy answered.  "Got clawed a little, but no serious damage."

Dawn looked at Giles, a slight pall of worry lining her features.  "Does being clawed by a werewolf mean the same thing as being bitten, Giles?"

"No, Dawn, it doesn't," Giles assured the girl.  "If Watchers' Council research is correct, the catalyst for transformation is found in a werewolf's saliva.  The claws may hurt like Hell, but that's about all."  Dawn and Willow breathed a sigh of relief.

Buffy continued, "But that's not the main thing that happened last night."  Before she could continue, Xander and Anya emerged from the backroom, presumably from a brief make-out session.   "Hey, Buffaroo Bonsai," Xander greeted his friend.  "What's the good word?"

"Gargoyle."  Buffy answered simply.

The other Scoobs looked at each other, measuring Buffy's last statement.  Finally Anya glanced at Xander, asking, "Is Gargoyle a good word?"

Xander cocked an eyebrow quizzically.  "Well, if you have the letters G, A, R, G, O, Y, and L, and there's a free E on the board."

"Don't forget the fifty point bonus for using all your letters on one turn," Willow offered.

"And if you hit a triple word score," Anya added.

"Uh, Guys," Buffy interrupted, "can we get back to the gargoyle situation?" As the others quieted down and gathered around the meeting table, Buffy made her announcement. "Last night, I confronted the werewolf, and he was one tough customer.  Then this big purple dude came down from the sky and landed on the wolf.  He kicked him around some, then gave me some ointment for my cuts.  He said he was a gargoyle, and his name was Goliath."

"Goliath the Gargoyle?" Xander snickered.  "I don't buy that, and I'm engaged to an ex-demon!"  

Buffy smirked at Xander for a moment before turning to Giles.  "Does the Council have any info on gargoyles?"

"Precious little, I'm afraid," Giles admitted.  "About the only thing that is widely known about gargoyles is that they are extinct."

"I'll tell Goliath you said that," Buffy quipped. "I think he'll be disappointed to hear that."

"Wait," Willow asked suddenly. "You're meeting him again?" 

"He gave me his card," Buffy opened her purse and fished out the card that Goliath had given her the previous night.  "He wants to meet me at the Regency Hotel tonight."

"A rich demon," Xander commented.  "That's new.  So, we need to plan some defense against this guy, right?"

"I dunno, Xand," Buffy demurred, "he did help me out last night."

"Spike's helped out before," Xander argued, "but I still keep my stakes in reach whenever he's in the room."

"Uh, guys," Dawn tried to interrupt.

"You say this guy can fly?" Willow asked.  "Then I could locate a vertigo-spell, something to upset his balance."

"Guys.."

"Hey, I still don't know whose side he's on," Buffy answered, "but he did come to my rescue."

"Yeah, but still," Xander started, but was interrupted by an eardrum-shattering blast.  The Scoobs clamped their hands to their ears and ground their teeth until the blast subsided.  For a minute after the wailing noise stopped, Buffy's ears still rang from the sudden noise.  Buffy and the others glared hard at Dawn, who was holding a compressed air horn in her hand.  

Buffy scowled at her sister.  "How long have you been hauling that monster around, Dawn?" 

"Just a few weeks, Buffy," Dawn admitted, suddenly squirming under the intense scrutiny of five pairs of angry eyes.  "I take it with me at night whenever I have to be out late.  Chases vamps away faster than holy water."  

Buffy stepped toward Dawn, snatching the air-horn from her hand.  "We'll discuss this later," she glowered at her mollified sister.  "Now, is there some reason you were trying to deafen us?"

"Sorry, Buffy," Dawn admitted as the others eased off on their stares.  "It's just when you guys get into research mode, it's hard to get a word in edgewise.  Anyway, when you started talking about gargoyles, it reminded me about that report I wrote on the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris."

"I remember that," Buffy nodded.  "What was your grade on that, anyway?" 

"An A-Minus," Dawn beamed.  "Mr. Swanson ticked it down for a few syntax errors.  Anyway, when I was researching for the report, I read a lot about some of the sculptures and such on the building.  Around the edge of the roof, there are all these gargoyles.  They were designed mainly to serve as waterspouts, to keep rainwater from splashing off the roof, like gutters.  But I also read that their ugly faces were thought to ward off evil spirits.  Mostly superstition, but if these gargoyle statues were based on the real beings, then maybe this Goliath guy is also on the level."

Giles raised an eyebrow at Dawn's observation.  "You may have a point there, Dawn," he mentioned.  "Many cultures use grotesque sculpture to ward off evil.  Gargoyles in medieval or gothic castles, animal headed deities guarding Egyptian tombs, Native American totem poles—quite a few actually.  And if these gargoyle sculptures were meant to guard Notre Dame against evil, perhaps this Goliath's motives are benevolent as well."

  
"A gargoyle's nature is to protect," Buffy murmured, half to herself.  "That's what Goliath said when he helped me go up against that werewolf.  Good job, Dawnie," Buffy ruffled her sister's hair, embarrassing Dawn immensely, but at the same time pleasing her.  For the first time ever, she really felt like part of the Scooby Gang, not just Buffy's sister or the Key, something to be protected.  She smiled warmly at Buffy, who nodded her affirmation.

"Giles," Buffy turned to her mentor, "would you like to join me at the Regency tonight?  Maybe meet Goliath for yourself?"

"Uh, yes," Giles stammered briefly.  "I think I would.  This could be quite eventful; the discovery of an entirely new species of supernatural life."

"Not to mention one that doesn't want to eviscerate us on the spot," Xander quipped.  Willow rolled her eyes at her friend's commentary, when the front door opened again.  The others tabled the discussion for the time being, as Giles moved to tend to a new customer.

The moment he first noticed her, Giles was reminded of a line from a Carly Simon song, 'You're So Vain'; "You walked into the party, like you were walking onto a yacht."  An imperiously striking figure in a red off-the-shoulder dress and white jacket combo that Xander's ex-girlfriend Cordy would sell her soul to possess strode purposefully to the counter.  Her features were cover-model quality, her red hair immaculately styled, her posture and poise polished and commanding.  She lowered her shades and peered over them with icy blue eyes, regarding her surroundings with a calm disdain.  Giles swallowed hard, feeling vaguely intimidated by this formidable looking woman, who almost reminded him of Glory.  

He found himself glancing around the shop, discreetly observing the expressions of the others as they watched the woman; Xander gawked in slack-jawed amazement, Anya's eyes seemed to literally turn bright green in jealousy, while Willow and Dawn valiantly tried to look like they weren't staring.  Buffy, for her part, stared hard at her, her eyes never moving.  She seemed to be sizing the woman up as a potential foe, and Giles realized that this woman must have triggered Buffy's Slayer instincts.  Having learned time and again over the last six years to trust those instincts completely and without reservation, Giles chose to confront the woman defensively.

"Uh, hello," he managed to greet the woman, his stoic British manner and Watcher training allowing him to hide his unease at her arrival. "I'm Rupert Giles.  How may I be of assistance?"

"Mr. Giles," she extended a perfectly manicured hand, speaking in a clipped yet cordial tone.  "I am Dominique Destine.  I represent a group of interested buyers, collectors if you will."

"Collectors?" Giles asked.  "May I ask of what?" 

Destine pursed her lips thoughtfully.  "Let us say, collectors of esoteric artifacts.  I was informed by certain sources that this shop has occasionally come into possession of such objects, and I have been commissioned to purchase such objects.  Price is no object, I assure you."  

As she fished through her purse, Giles glanced briefly at Buffy.  The Slayer shook her head slowly from side to side, her brow furrowed in concern.  Without a word, she confirmed Giles' fears; Miss Destine was tripping Buffy's alarms.  He resolved not to sell Miss Destine anything more powerful than a used ouija board and a jar of twice-blessed oregano.

Producing a slip of paper from her purse, Destine started to read off of it.  "Now, my backers are especially keen on obtaining a scrying stone.  Yellow topaz I believe works best for scrying."

"Really," Giles harrumphed, walking over to a glass display case.  "I always understood that ruby quartz was more effective.  And, yes, I believe I have several in stock."  Gesturing toward the display case, he pointed out a few of the more innocuous quartz crystals.  "This one, in particular," he pointed out the largest of the stones, "is especially good.  Nearly flawless."

"Quartz you say?" Destine mused silently.  "Very well, I shall take that one."  Giles withdrew the stone, and started to wrap it, somewhat relieved that she hadn't asked for anything more powerful.

"And also, I'm looking for a ferula gemina."

Giles jerked his head toward Destine rapidly and blinked.  "A fe-ferula gemina?"

"Did I mispronounce the word?" asked Destine.

"Uh, I'm not sure," Giles stammered.  "I don't believe I have such an item in stock."

"Except for that one in the safeOW!" Xander started to chime in, only to find himself rubbing his shin, after Anya kicked it.  "Uh, no, Xander," she cut in hastily.  "You're thinking of that new CD I bought last week, Jerry Ferrari.  Some goth-rock thing.  No good at all, I'm going to trade that one for some ska or something."  She glared at Xander, who wisely chose to remain silent.

"Yes, quite," Giles returned his attention to his customer.  "I assure you, Miss Destine," he intoned gravely, "that I have no such item in stock.  And from the rumors I have heard of its supposed power, I wouldn't dare carry such a thing.  This shop deals primarily in white magic supplies, and alternate religious artifacts.  From what few reports I have heard of this 'ferula gemina', if such a thing indeed existed, it would be too dangerous for any person to possess."  Returning to wrapping the crystal, he continued, "The scrying stone, however, I can let you have for twenty-seven dollars and thirty-eight cents.  Is there anything else?"

Destine raised her head, her eyes smoldering with a hateful fire directed at Giles.  For a moment Giles feared that he might be facing another Hell-goddess, as bad or worse than Glory.  Finally, she chose to end the tension, backing off slowly. "No, Mr. Giles," she muttered, "this will suffice for now." She handed Giles three tens, silently stood by as Giles gave her the change, and turned to leave.  She then cocked her head slightly toward Giles, adding, "If my clients have any other requests, I may return."

"Our hours are posted on the front door," Giles answered non-committally.  Destine nodded sagely, then left, her stiletto heels clicking on the shop's tile floor.

Giles and the others looked around the shop, which seemed somewhat less comfortable.  A sense of peril, of vague menace, descended over the shop like a thick fog.  Finally Xander glanced at the front door, and muttered, "Brrr.  Anyone else feel twenty degrees cooler?"

Dawn smirked, looking at the door.  "I swear, that lady was so cold that every time she opened her mouth a little light went on."

"Not to mention more knowledgeable of the arcane than she let on," Giles observed.  "She was correct when she said that yellow topaz was best for scrying, but she didn't challenge me when I suggested ruby quartz."

"You think she's hiding something, Giles?" Willow asked.

"I have no doubt," the former Watcher answered ominously.  "I fear that we haven't seen the last of Miss Dominique Destine."

The others nodded silently, then dispersed to separate errands.  Giles agreed to meet Buffy at the Regency, and the Slayer left quietly, preparing for the evening's meeting.

For long hours after their encounter, the icy gaze of Dominique Destine still chilled their souls.  Whoever this woman was, she was not someone that they hoped to meet any time soon.  

The lobby of the Regency was a study in understated ambiance.  From the high beamed ceiling from which an opulent chandelier refracted a shower of radiance throughout the sizable room, to the mahogany trimmed counters and tables, to the rich reds and violets of the upholstery and carpeting, every detail of the lobby spoke of elegance and sophistication.  Both Buffy and Giles felt out of place here; Giles' preferred a more spartan decorating scheme, while Buffy felt more at home in the Bronze.  Buffy glanced around nervously, noticing the piano player in one corner, cheerfully playing popular songs for passersby.  Not exactly Dingoes Ate My Baby, she mused, but I guess they wouldn't quite fit the decorating scheme here.  More to the point, her rescuer from last night didn't strike her as someone who would fit in with the surroundings.  More likely his very presence would cause a panicked stampede toward the front doors.

"Excuse me," a low, servile voice caught Buffy's attention, and she and Giles turned sharply to face the speaker.  A tall, slim gentleman with short blond hair, a thin face with a sharply pointed chin, and a deferential posture, nodded toward Buffy.  "I am looking for a young woman named Buffy Summers.  I was told that she was an attractive blond woman, about twenty years old."

Buffy scanned his face briefly, then nodded.  "I'm Buffy Summers."

"My name is Owen.  I was instructed to escort you to the penthouse suite, Miss Summers."

"Uh, yeah," Buffy stalled as Giles glanced dubiously at the gentleman.  "We're waiting for someone, actually."

Owen arched a critical eyebrow.  "Yes, Goliath.  He is in the penthouse, and will meet you there."

Buffy's eyes narrowed as Owen said Goliath's name.  "Goliath?" she asked innocently, uncertain where he got that name.

"Yes, the gargoyle," Owen answered.  "My employer has asked me to escort you to the penthouse.  Excuse me, sir," he addressed Buffy's companion.  "Are you Mr. Rupert Giles?"

"I am he, yes," Giles answered. "You are very well informed."

"My employer keeps up with such things, sir," Owen said simply.  "I believe he would wish to meet you as well.  He has had some run-ins with the Council of Watchers, and wishes to discuss certain things with you."

"May I ask who your employer is?" Giles quizzed Owen.

"He wishes to make his identity known in his suite, sir.  He checked into this hotel under confidential circumstances to prevent attracting undue attention.  Please sir, if you and Miss Summers will accompany me to the suite, all will be made clear."

Buffy and Giles glanced at each other, the stoic Englishman reading the young woman's eyes; she had her doubts about Owen, he was hiding his true nature under the attitude of a servant, but he didn't trip Buffy's 'spider senses'.  For the time being she and Giles chose to trust him.

"Okay, Owen," Buffy gestured toward the elevator doors, "lead on."

"This way, sir, madam," Owen stepped toward the elevator, with Buffy and Giles following.

They rode the elevator in silence; Buffy absently tapped her toes to the Musak, Giles glanced around the mahogany trimmed interior of the elevator, while Owen kept his own council, his face unreadable.  After a few minutes, the slow-moving elevator settled to a stop, and the doors slid open.

Owen stepped out of the elevator and ushered the two guests outside.  The elevator door opened directly into the suite.  The penthouse wasn't as ostentatious as the lobby, but it was still grand; a spacious living area, complete with widescreen television, DVD, stereo, complementary wet bar, plush maroon shag pile carpet – I can't wait to see what the bedroom looks like, Buffy mused.

"Please sit down, make yourselves comfortable," Owen bade his guests.  As Buffy and Giles took their seats, Owen called toward the bedroom door; "Sir, our guests have arrived."

"Excellent," a casual yet serious sounding voice answered from the door.  "Please serve the refreshments, Owen."

"Very good, sir," Owen bowed slightly, then made his way to a mini-fridge next to the wet-bar.  "Would you care for a drink?" he asked Buffy and Giles.

"A diet cola, if you got it," Buffy said.

"Some Earl Grey tea, if you please," Giles added.  Quickly, Owen produced a glass of cola and a ceramic teacup, and handed them to his guests.  As he withdrew a tray of what looked like small pastries and carried it to the coffee table, a youthful gentleman emerged from the bedroom.

He was wearing a blue Armani suit, immaculately tailored and styled to enhance his frame, but he gave every indication that he wasn't the type to be overly impressed with finery.  He flashed a welcoming smile at Buffy and Giles, his face both jovial and intelligent, a perfectly trimmed goatee framing his chin.  "How do you do, Miss Summers, Mr. Giles?  I am.."

"David Xanatos," Giles identified their host.

"Ah," Xanatos chuckled as he grasped Giles' hand in a healthy handshake.  "My fame precedes me."  
  


"Something like that," Giles answered.  "I saw you on television this morning, with a friend of mine, Xander Harris."

"Yes, Mr. Harris," David nodded as he shook Buffy's hand.  "Good man.  And I must say, it is fortuitous that he is your friend, Miss Summers."  As he sat down in an easy chair, he waved his hand toward his servant.  "You may go, Owen.  I believe you have...other matters to attend to?"

"That I do, sir," Owen bowed toward his employer.  "I shall bid you a good evening."  He slipped out silently as Xanatos nodded toward the pastry tray on the coffee table.  "Please, help yourself to the baklava.  I have it shipped in from Manhattan fresh every day." Buffy smirked at Xanatos' comment, prompting the multi-millionaire to simply shrug his shoulders.  "It's good to be the boss."

Buffy gingerly selected a pastry, and took a bite.  The baklava was sweet and buttery, with slivers of almonds and a hint of honey, and literally melted in her mouth.  "Hey, this is good," she admitted as Giles sampled a piece for himself.

"Glad you approve," Xanatos commented.  "Ernesto Papadapolis, the finest Greek pastry chef in New York, runs a stand just two blocks away from my corporate HQ.  His great-grandfather emigrated from Greece with nothing but the clothes on his back and the family baklava recipe, and built the Papadapolis bakery in the heart of Manhattan.  Ernesto's the third generation to run the bakery, and when I first tasted his wares, I became a regular customer.  Help yourself, there's plenty."

"Thanks, Mr. Xanatos," Buffy nodded.  "But we're here on business."

"Yes," Xanatos answered.  "Goliath.  He's out on the balcony, if you would care to join me.  It's almost sunset."  He rose from his chair and walked over to the balcony curtain.  Drawing the curtain, he revealed the balcony's breathtaking view of the ocean, the sun slowly receding behind the horizon.  

Buffy walked toward Xanatos, and was surprised to see a granite statue standing on the balcony. Stepping outside herself, she examined the statue further.  The same face that greeted her the night before, the same stern chin and strong cheekbones, now stared at her from the unmoving stone.  "Cute," she quipped, turning suddenly toward Xanatos.  "Where's Goliath, really?"  
  


"Just wait a moment," Xanatos answered calmly.  "You'll understand soon enough.  Oh, and I'd stand back if I were you."  At that moment, the last reddish rays of the setting sun dispersed behind the ocean waters, and Buffy could feel a faint vibration from the statue beside her.  She stepped back toward the living room, watching as the stone seemed to shift.

The statue rumbled, cracks forming in its surface.  The cracks grew more numerous until the statue exploded, sending shards of stone flying.  From the center of the explosion, the figure of Goliath raised his arms and wings, stretching as if awakening.  He let loose a bellowing roar that echoed off the ocean tides, before folding his wings and turning to face the living room.  He regarded the astonished Slayer and Watcher, then raised his eyebrow. "I see that you brought company, Buffy Summers.  Welcome.  I am Goliath."

Buffy and Giles turned briefly toward each other, Buffy whistling softly.  "I'm impressed, you?" 


	3. First Contact

Chapter 3

First Contact

_For God's Sake, let us sit upon the ground,_

_And tell sad stories of the death of kings:_

_How some have been depos'd, some slain in war,_

_Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd;_

_Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd;_

_All murder'd._

_--William Shakespeare_

_  "King Richard II", Act III Scene III _

She had poured herself a cup of chamomile tea, and was leaning back in her office chair listening to the new Cherish the Ladies CD when she heard a knock at her door.  Lowering the volume of her CD player, she opened the door, pleasantly surprised to find out who her guest was.  "Tara," she smiled.  "Please, come in, make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you, Miss Lafayette," Tara answered timidly as she took her seat, unwilling to take her eyes off of her mentor.  The melodious Celtic music in the background would have normally soothed the younger woman, but today it washed past her.  When Miss Lafayette offered her a cup of chamomile tea, Tara declined.  Until she was certain of what she was dealing with, Tara wanted to keep her wits about her.

Miss Lafayette moved her chair out from behind her desk and sat directly in front of Tara.  "You look like you have something on your mind, Tara," she observed.  "Is there something you wish to talk about?"

Tara could feel the gentle power of Miss Lafayette's eyes upon her, regarding her in a motherly fashion, yet at the same time analyzing her carefully.  She shied away from this loving scrutiny, and concentrated on her reasons for coming here.  "Well, there is something, yeah.  I had this dream the other night, and, well, I wondered if you could help me understand it."

Lafayette pursed her lips in thought.  "Do you think it was more than a normal dream?" 

"I think it was supposed to be telling me something," Tara admitted.  "Like a vision, or something." She paused, not sure how to proceed.  

Miss Lafayette regarded Tara with a gimlet eye, picking up every nuance, every awkward glance, every shift of her body in the chair.  "Maybe if you described the dream," she suggested, "I could understand it better."

Tara sighed, her shoulders sagging under an unseen load.  "Well, there were knights on a battlefield," she started.  "Most of them were dying, or already dead.  And a king, dying on the field.  And there was this woman, I think she was a priestess or something.  And the weird thing was, she looked like you.  I mean, maybe that's why I was thinking priestess, because of you and the wiccan group and all?"

Lafayette nodded slowly.  She placed her teacup down on her desk, almost reverently.  "You dreamed of Arthur.  Of the fall of Camelot."

Tara gasped audibly, and Lafayette had to suppress a smile at her reaction.  "How d-did you know ab-bout C-camelot?" Tara fell back into her nervous stutter as she gawked at her mentor.  "I d-didn't tell you that my dream was about King Arthur, I…I..." Tara blinked for a second, then found herself looking at Miss Lafayette for the first time.  

There was no noticeable change in her appearance.  She was still dressed in a red cableknit sweater and black slacks.  There wasn't even a detectable shift in her posture.  But there was a change.  She seemed taller somehow, more poised, more powerful.  Every outline of her face, every curve of her body, even the colors of her clothes seemed sharper, more defined.  Like Tara had looked at her through imperfect eyes, and now her vision had locked into true focus.  She saw Miss Lafayette in all her power, and it frightened her.  

The priestess answered Tara in a quiet voice that nonetheless hit Tara like a tide on the sand; "I have waited for you for so long, my child.  I had cast the bones many years ago, sought the signs and prayed to the Goddess for guidance.  The signs pointed to one who would dream of Camelot, who would see me as I truly am, and now that time has come.  You know me, child.  You have always known me in your heart."

Tara gulped hard, gazing upon the woman who stood before her.  Not since she encountered the insane Glory had she known such fear in her soul, but she kept a stranglehold on that fear.  She had to know.  "Who-who are you?" she stammered.

The older brunette regarded her warmly, with a motherly affection.  "I am Morgan Lafayette, child.  A priestess of the Goddess."  

With those simple words, Tara realized now who this person truly was.  Not fooled by simple sight, she saw her.  Not fooled by her words, she heard her.  She knew her now as she truly was.  She knew her just as surely as she knew that her life had just changed forever.  She had crossed a bridge, and there was no going back now.

David Xanatos had to suppress a smile as Goliath broke from his cocoon of rock in front of Buffy and Giles.  He had awaited the chance to see their reactions. It's one thing to know about the stone sleep, it is another thing to see a gargoyle emerge from hibernation.  To watch the stone figure shatter violently, revealing the creature within.  

For his own part, Goliath regarded the new faces that gaped at him in silence.  He wasn't sure what to expect when they first saw him emerge from the stone sleep. Astonishment, shock, fear possibly.  In Manhattan he and his clan had faced more than a few fearful faces, stirred by primal nightmares or the prejudicial anti-Gargoyle ravings of John Castaway and his Quarrymen organization.  It was a sad fact of human nature that the unknown was often treated as the enemy.

But the middle-aged gentleman standing at Buffy's side seemed to regard him with curiosity, not fear.  He was clearly a scholar, not reactionary or judgmental.  He was sizing Goliath up, determining for himself whether he was friend or foe.  Goliath nodded toward him, hoping to set his mind at ease.  "Greetings, my friend.  You are the Slayer's mentor, are you not?"

"I am her Watcher, yes," the Englishman answered, slowly extending his hand.  "Rupert Giles."

"Goliath," the gargoyle introduced himself, accepting Giles' hand.  "A pleasure to meet you.  And you, Miss Summers," he turned toward Buffy, bowing in a courtly manner.  "I am pleased to see you well, and recovering from Wolf's attack last night."

"Yeah, thanks," Buffy answered, absently touching her cheek, where Wolf had clawed her the previous night.  "Whatever that stuff you gave me for those scrapes, it seemed to work quickly."

"I am relieved."  Goliath strode off of the balcony and into the suite.  "I apologize for my, shall we say, dramatic entrance on the balcony.  It is the way of the gargoyles; we turn to stone at sunrise, emerging from the stone sleep when the sun sets to defend our castle." Buffy and Giles absorbed this information quietly, and Goliath made no more mention about it.

David Xanatos ushered Buffy and Giles inside and they sat together on a nearby sofa.  David took his easy chair, while Goliath preferred to stand.  The gargoyle glanced at the desert tray on the coffee table, and smiled slightly. "Baklava," he commented.  "The Papadapolis bakery, David?"

"Where else?" David grinned, reaching for a chocolate-iced pastry.  "Help yourself."

"My thanks," Goliath reached down and picked up a piece of baklava.  After downing the snack in one bite, he turned his attention to Buffy and Giles, saying, "I am grateful that you agreed to meet me here, Buffy.  There is much for us to discuss."

"Yes," Buffy agreed.  "Like, who the heck are you?  I mean, I've run into vampires, werewolves, demons, the odd goddess or two, but you're my first gargoyle."

"I can believe that," Goliath admitted.  "Our people are scarce.  Until recently, my clan believed that we were the last of our kind.  However, I have since met others.  Small clans in London, Japan, and the Amazon rainforests, as well as a large clan on the isle of Avalon."

"Avalon?" Goliath asked, suddenly excited.  "Are you saying that the legendary isle, the last resting place of Arthur, is real?"

"It is, my friend," Goliath answered in an amused tone.  "And I will be glad to speak to you of such matters.  But for now, we must address a threat.  An enemy of mine has come to Sunnydale.  This is my reason for being here; to warn you of this threat, and to offer whatever assistance I can."

Buffy cocked her eyebrow at this proclamation.  "How serious are we talking here, Goliath?  I mean, not to blow my own horn, but I've taken on my share of would-be world killers as the Slayer."

"I've no doubt," Xanatos replied, savoring another bite of baklava.  "But don't sell Demona short, Buffy.  She's a tough customer."  

Buffy turned toward Giles, a skewered half-smile crossing her face.  "Demona," she said plainly.  "We're going up against someone called 'Demona', and they expect us to take her seriously?"

"Be assured," Goliath spoke gravely, "that Demona is not one to be taken lightly.  She betrayed my clan over a thousand years ago, and all this time she has sustained an all-consuming hatred of humanity."

Giles pondered Goliath's statement carefully.  "The two of you would seem to have a history," he mused.

"That we do," Goliath answered sadly.  "That we do.  Perhaps I should begin at the very beginning."  He took a deep breath, and began his narration in a low, almost stentorian voice;

"In the year 990 AD, my clan defended Castle Wyvern in Scotland, from the hordes of Viking conquerors that threatened to overtake them during the Dark Ages.  We expected no reward from Prince Malcolm or his people for our services, nor did we require any.  It has always been our nature to protect our castle.  As my mentor Hudson has often said, 'we gargoyles can no more stop defending our castle than we can stop breathing the air'.

"However, we were not always welcomed by the humans we protected.  Many looked upon us with fear and mistrust.  Very few of the clan gave their dislike of us any thought.  But then there was Demona.  She was ever hot-headed, and fearful of the humans.  She feared that the humans we protected would turn on us in their fear, and destroy us.  She was also a student of magic, slowly indoctrinated into the Black Arts by a powerful sorcerer called the Archmage.  

"Inevitably she chose to strike against the humans, before they had an opportunity to destroy us.  She allied with a Captain of the Guard at Castle Wyvern, and together they betrayed the Castle to the Viking chief Hakon.  Hakon and his forces destroyed the castle, and most of the clan perished at their hands as well.  A few of us survived, to aid as many of Prince Malcolm's people as survived the raid, but we were victims of a dark magic.  The Magus, a student of the Archmage, was bigoted against my clan, and believing them responsible for the sacking of Castle Wyvern, cast a spell on the surviving members of my clan.  The spell trapped us in stone sleep, petrified by the spell until Castle Wyvern rose above the clouds."  Goliath shook his heavy head, damming the tide of grief at the betrayal of his once-mate.  "I hadn't been so ensorcelled, but when I learned of Magus's treachery, I asked him to place me under the spell, so I may go down with my clan."  Buffy and Giles listened intently to Goliath's narrative, hearing the emotion, the sadness of one who had lost his people.  

"Meanwhile," Xanatos added, "Demona survived, blaming humans for the fall of the clan.  She roamed the world for years, at one point being given immortality by a trio of witches who had an agenda of their own for her.  At one point, about ten years ago, she came to me, informing me about Castle Wyvern and her clan's plight.  She told me about the spell that held the other gargoyles in stone, and I came up with a solution; I bought the property of Castle Wyvern, had it shipped over to New York, and hoisted the entire castle to the top of my corporate skyscraper.  Above the clouds."

"As I recall, David," Goliath reminded his friend archly, "you too had an agenda of your own."

"And you weren't going to go along with it," Xanatos answered, a wry smile on his face.  "In the end, however, it all worked out.  Goliath and his clan live again, and have made Manhattan their protectorate.  And in the end, the even made me reconsider my wicked ways."

"No easy task," Goliath added.  "Anyway, once the curse was lifted, my clan lived among the shadows of Manhattan, aided by a police officer Elisa Masa."  As he spoke the name, Buffy couldn't help but notice that the tone of his voice had turned slightly affectionate.  "We also confronted Demona on several occasions; her hatred for humanity had only grown in the centuries since we were parted."  Now he sounded bitter, his voice slow and halting as he recalled the evil that had sickened Demona's heart.  "We have reason to believe that she is in Sunnydale now, seeking something.  She has in the past used objects of great arcane power, and there is evidence that she seeks such an object now."

Giles absently removed his glasses from his face and began to wipe the lenses with a pocket handkerchief; a body language that Buffy recognized as a sign his mind was hard at work.  "May I ask what evidence you have?" he asked.

"Wolf, for one," Goliath answered grimly. 

Buffy raised an eyebrow.  "You mean our playmate from last night?"

Goliath nodded.  "She hired him to test your strength, Buffy, before she confronts you personally."

"Sounds like you and he had some run-ins," Buffy observed.  

Xanatos nodded knowingly.  "I'm afraid he was one of my creations." When Buffy and Giles stared hard at Xanatos, he simply smirked, saying, "Sorry about that.  He was a testament to my misspent past.  He was part of a team of mercenaries called The Pack, and they had done some jobs for me in the past.  Now he's working solo, for anyone who can afford his price.  At one point, he voluntarily underwent genetic engineering, and had wolf genes spliced into his system, making him half-man, half-wolf."

"So he's not a real werewolf," Buffy mused.

"No," Xanatos huffed, "just a real pest.  But he's not the real enemy, he's just a hired gun.  Demona's the real threat."

"David speaks the truth, my friends," Goliath said sadly.  "I have known Demona for all of my life, I loved her once, I grieved when I lost her, I rejoiced when we were reunited, and I raged when she betrayed me. I trusted her once, only to see her prove to be the most dangerous being I have ever encountered.  Where once she had been my mate, she is now my enemy."

"Wrong, Goliath," a harsh voice blasted from the balcony window.  "You are the enemy!  You and the humans you so foolishly protect!"  Four heads turned toward the still-open balcony window.  Goliath's eyes narrowed, glowing bright yellow at the speaker's presence, while Xanatos simply lifted his eyebrow disdainfully.  Buffy and Giles simply gasped in startlement at the sight before them.

She was a gargoyle; that much was obvious.  A female of the species, the same species as Goliath.  Her hide was a similar shade to Goliath's, stretched tightly over a lithe yet muscular frame.  She perched on the balcony rail, her hands resting defiantly on her hips and her wings spread out around her body, reminding Buffy of a great bird of prey about to lunge downward for the kill.  A shock of short, unruly red hair on her head made Buffy think absently of Willow, but the cruel upturn of her lips into a villainous smile dashed the similarity from Buffy's mind.  

But it was the eyes that left the greatest impression.  One moment, a sharp piercing blue, the next moment as they passed over Buffy and Giles, burning in their sockets like red hot coals.  Burning with righteous rage.  Burning with hatred.

The seconds stretched into each other, no one daring to break the silence.  Finally, Buffy stepped forward, appraising the interloper almost casually.  "Don't tell me, let me guess," she said.  "Demona, right?"

The creature snarled disdainfully.  "Very good, Slayer.  I'll put a gold star on your gravestone."

"Oh, this is good," Buffy chuckled mirthlessly.  "You're threatening to kill me, Dee-dee?  Been there, done that, got the t-shirt!"

Demona shrieked as she lunged from the balcony, throwing her weight on top of the startled Slayer.  Buffy "Dee-dee?" Demona snarled.  "I will teach you to insult me, whelp!"

"No thanks," Buffy smiled.  "I already know how." Buffy had no time to evade her opponent before Demona landed on her.  But she did succeed in lifting her right leg as she fell so it was between her and her opponent.  With a powerful thrust, she kicked her leg forward, pushing the enraged Gargoyle away from her.  Demona landed hard against the wall, knocking a table lamp to the floor with her wing.  Buffy stood over Demona, arms ready at her sides.  "How about we take this thing outside, Demi?"

"With pleasure," Demona growled as she leapt toward Buffy, grabbing her shoulders with strong claws, and barreling them both past the balcony and out into the night sky.  "BUFFY!" Goliath shouted as he rushed out the window, and dove off after Demona and the captive Slayer.

Giles and Xanatos rushed out to the balcony, leaning hard against the railing as they watched the departing Gargoyle.  "You needn't worry about Buffy," Xanatos assured Giles quietly.  "There's no one I would trust with her well being more than Goliath."

As her shoulders protested under the iron claws of her captor, as the wind rushed violently through her hair, Buffy began to question the wisdom of her goading Demona into an attack.  Demona's wings knifed through the air, rising high above the ground below them.  Buffy considered struggling to free herself from Demona's grasp, but the distance below her reminded her of too many Wile E. Coyote cartoons.  Her immediate future looked grim.

Okay, Slayer, she thought urgently, no time to panic.  So you're in the talons of a psycho gargoyle who's flying you over the city, probably intent on dropping you any second… She glanced at the monster's wings, noticing that they weren't moving.  They weren't pushing against the air like a bird's wings.  She wasn't truly flying, Buffy had realized; she was gliding.  Probably shifting her own body weight to steer.  Buffy smiled as the beginnings of a crazy idea began to form.  But for her plan to work, Demona had to do what Buffy suspected she would do.

The vengeful Gargoyle complied.  "Tell me, Slayer, can you fly?" Demona snarled venomously as she loosened her grip on Buffy's shoulders.  

The split-second that Demona released her shoulders, Buffy twisted her arms upward, and grabbed Demona's wrists with her hands.  "No," Buffy shouted, "but I can steer!"  Tugging hard on Demona's left list, Buffy was pleased with the result, as Demona lost control of her glide pattern, and began to plummet rapidly.

"You fool!" Demona shrieked.  "You'll get us both killed!"  Struggling mightily, Demona slowly managed to right herself before landing on a street below, and coasted among the buildings of downtown Sunnydale.

"Well, thanks, Demi," Buffy announced, "but here's where I get off."  She squeezed hard on Demona's wrists, forcing her to release her shoulders.  Buffy tucked her legs under her, hitting the ground in a roll.  The landing was painful, and she'd probably feel the bruises for the better part of the next day, but she was still alive.

She heard the sweep of leather wings behind her, and spun around to confront her opponent.  She was relieved to see Goliath behind her instead of Demona.  "Buffy," he asked as he helped her get back on her feet, "are you well?"

"A little dinged up," Buffy answered, "and Giles will probably ream me out for that bonehead play, but I'm okay now."

"It was a daring stratagem, Buffy," Goliath nodded approvingly.  "But I doubt that Demona will forgive your bruising of her ego."

"On the contrary, my mate," Demona's voice snarled from behind them.  Buffy and Goliath turned toward the voice, as Demona glided to an easy stop, her wings dropping cloak-like around her shoulders.  "I applaud your warrior's spirit, Buffy Summers, if not your intelligence."

"Quit playing games, Demona," Goliath intoned in a low voice, almost a whisper, that nonetheless reminded Buffy of the ten seconds before an earthquake.  "Whatever you have planned in Sunnydale, we will stop you.  And I am no longer your mate!"

"Oh, yes, I keep forgetting," Demona chided Goliath with venomous sweetness.  "You would rather bed down with that miserable human whore Elisa!"  Demona spat out the name as though it were poison on her tongue.

When Buffy turned toward Goliath, she saw his eyes glowing fiercely, and could feel the roar build up from his gut seconds before it blasted from his throat.  "You will not speak of my wife with such disrespect!  She is your better in every way possible!"

Demona shrieked at Goliath's words.  "No human is my better!  They are vermin, every last one of them!  I will never rest until the entire race of humanity is wiped off the face of the earth!"

"Oh give it a rest, Erica Kane!" Buffy shouted, finally fed up with listening to this ancient feud.  "You've established your credentials as the Big Bad here, so sheath those claws, Demona.  Or should I say Dominique?"

Buffy smiled slyly as Demona stopped shrieking.  Goliath's eyes dimmed, as a satisfied smirk crossed his face.  "She was at the Magic Box earlier today," Buffy explained to Goliath.  "Looking for some rare objects.  I recognized the voice, and the 'I'm-better-than-everyone' attitude a mile off.  Let me guess," she approached Demona, enjoying the surprised expression on the female Gargoyle's face a trifle too much, "you tampered with some dark magic, trying to break that whole stone-by-day thing, and you ended up human by day.  Oh, I'll bet that burns your tail, spending half your life as the very thing you hate most."

Demona's lips contorted into a livid sneer, but one glance in Goliath's direction indicated that she would not succeed in any attempt on Buffy's life at this time.  With supreme effort, she reined in her temper, and nodded toward Buffy.  "Bravo, Slayer," she said coolly.  "Bravo.  You've proven that you're more than the sum of your parts.  But then again," she added as she spread her wings, "so am I.  We will meet again, Slayer!"  She leapt and bounded away, and attained loft enough to glide away in three strides.  

Buffy and Goliath watched in somber silence as Demona disappeared in the distance.  Goliath had considered chasing after her, but vetoed the idea; she had too much of a lead on her.  

Buffy narrowed her eyes as she looked toward the skies where Demona had vanished.  "You and Xanatos weren't kidding, Goliath," she breathed.  "She's one mean mother."

"Over a millennium of blaming humanity for her own actions," Goliath answered sadly, "has burnt the love out her heart, and now all that is left is the hatred.  And she will strike again, Buffy, and soon."

"Then I'd better be ready for her," Buffy spoke with quiet determination.

"We will be ready for her," Goliath corrected Buffy.  "As long as her threat remains, you may count on my assistance."

"Well then," Buffy smiled, as she offered her hand to Goliath, "Welcome to the Scooby Gang."  Goliath shook Buffy's hand, sealing the pact.

She had a new threat to contend with, but now Buffy also had a new ally.

Willow had finished studying for a mid-term in her advanced computer programming class, and had planned to call it an early night, when a faint awareness flickered at the edge of her psyche.  A magic alarm, a faint whisper of power against power, echoed within her.  The power that called to her was a familiar and welcome to her as the sunrise, and just as beautiful to behold.

Willow turned toward her window, and saw a faint blue spark dancing against the window pane.  She hurried over to the window, threw it open and silently welcomed the spectral visitor.  The spark flitted here and there, lighting briefly on Willow's computer, then darting across the bedroom.  Willow smiled as the familiar presence wandered around her, finally coming to rest on her nose.

"Tara," she whispered, addressing the soul-spark of her lover.  "I miss you too, honey.  But why are you here like this?  I'd have accepted one of your naughty e-mails."  

The Tara-spark slowly descended from Willow's nose, landing softly on a pajama-clad breast.  The spark then faded, and Willow thought that the spark had left her, until she sensed something within herself.  Thoughts she hadn't had, emotions that she knew belonged to her partner.  Memories of an unhappy childhood, lightened only by a loving mother who had died too young, leaving Tara at the mercy of uncaring and cruel guardians.  Memories of Tara first making her way alone, finally arriving at U. C. Sunnydale, where she met the shy young redhead who would show her love, call Tara her own and make her part of a real family for the first time in her life.  Memories of being lost to madness at the hands of the goddess Glorificus. 

And something more.  A knowledge that, while Tara would always love Willow with all of her heart, their destinies now lay on separate paths.  A knowledge that Tara now needed to seek her own future, and had an important mission to perform.  A knowledge that someday soon, they would meet again.  And above all, a knowledge that, however their parting would hurt her, Willow would find an even greater love than she had with Tara.

All these things Willow saw, felt, sensed, knew, with a flash of revelation that she knew without questioning to be true.  She saw the blue spark of Tara's soul flittering before her eyes one last time, and felt the faintest brush against her lips, like a kiss from an angel.  Then the spark faded, and was lost.  The sense of magic around her had faded.

Willow became aware of tears welling in her eyes and trickling down her cheek.  And while she was saddened by the realization that she had lost her love, she did not despair.  For she knew with an absolute clarity that it was right.  She felt a closure she had lacked when Oz had left her.  A chapter of her life had ended, but a new one was about to begin.

"Goodbye, Tara," she whispered to the night.

Caritas;

_"When you hear the music you make a dip_

_Into someone else's pocket then make a slip._

_Steal a car and go to __Las Vegas__ oh, the gigolo pool._

_Hanging out by the state line,_

_Turning holy water into wine_

_Drinkin' it down_

_I'm on a bus on a psychedelic trip_

_Reading murder books tryin' to stay hip._

_I'm thinkin' of you you're out there so_

_Say your prayers._

_Say your prayers._

_Say your prayers."_

Lorne had seen and heard the worst mutilations of all manner of songs, but never had he heard anything like this.  The spiky-haired peroxide addict who was belting out Billy Idol was unleashing enough rage over whoever he was singing about to make the manager of Caritas almost afraid for this woman's life.  His voice contained nothing but hatred and venom, his posture and attitude spoke of plans of vengeance.

It was when he looked into the singer's festering heart that Lorne trembled.

_"Now I close my eyes_

_And I wonder why_

_I don't despise_

_Now all I can do_

_Is love what was once_

_So alive and new_

_But it's gone from your eyes_

_I'd better realise"_

William Exeter, that was his name in life.  Before an insane vampire named Drusilla fed from him, deceiving him into thinking that she wanted more from him.  Now he gave his heart, damaged and hideous though it was, to another, who rejected him.  Understandably, of course, considering his history of murder and mayhem.  Spike may be chipped, Lorne reflected, but he was far from harmless.

_"Les yeux sans visage, eyes without a face_

_Les yeux sans visage, eyes without a face_

_Les yeux sans visage, eyes without a face_

_Got no human grace, your eyes without a face._

_Such a human waste, your eyes without a face_

_And now it's getting worse."_

The vampire finished his performance and replaced the mic, before meeting Lorne off-stage.  "Okay, banana-face," he sneered at Lorne.  "I sang for you, where's my blood?"

"Well," Lorne answered haughtily.  "Aren't you the master of the half-witticism?" He handed Spike a pitcher of thick red liquid, saying, "Here, to your health."  Spike chugged down the pitcher, wiping his lips with the cuff of his duster jacket.  

Lorne, for his part, winced with disgust at this waste of flesh.  He hastily scribbled a note on a napkin, and handed it to Spike.  "Here, the address of a butcher that saves pig's blood.  A friend of mine does business with him."

Spike looked at the napkin without picking it up off the bar.  "Your friend," he asked sullenly.  "He's a detective, right?" He grabbed the napkin, rolled it into a ball and tossed it into Lorne's face.  "Wouldn't wipe me nose with it."  Leaving the remains of the pitcher on the bar, Spike nodded a curt farewell and left silently.  

Lorne turned to his regular bouncer, a surly Fyarl demon, and said, "The fellow with the Brillo cut?  If I ever see him here again, you're out of a job." The bouncer nodded, and returned to his imposing posture.

Spike stumbled into a back alley, retching onto the cobblestones.  "Damn that fag!" he shouted as he wiped the rancid blood from his lips.  "Trust him to give me week-old-blood!  Well, I'm gonna go find out what demon blood tastes like now!"

"Oh, I wouldn't," a cultured voice spoke from the alley entrance.

Spike glared ahead of him, as a sillouetted figure walked casually toward him.  A cane tapped against the cobblestones as the gentleman approached Spike.  "After all, how can you tell what you get with demon blood?  It's seldom palatable, and I strongly doubt that it's nourishing."

"Who the hell are you?"

The gentleman smiled.  "Why, I'm your benefactor, if you'll let me be. I mean, look at you.  Spike.  William the Bloody.  The Scourge of Europe.  The Slayer of Slayers.  Reduced to grubbing for spoiled pig's blood.  What a waste."

Spike snarled at the gentleman, and considered lunging at him, but didn't want another chip-induced episode.  The ponce may have him pegged, but Spike wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

The gentleman smiled at Spike, saying, "I can change all that.  I have my ways."

"Oh?" Spike quizzed the gentleman.  "What are you, some kind of magician?"

"Why yes, as a matter of fact," the gentleman answered.  With his left hand, he reached behind Spike's ear, and snatched his hand back before the vampire could blink.  He held his palm up before Spike, revealing a quarter.  "Look what I found in your ear," he chanted.

Spike regarded the magician with a hard sneer.  "Cute.  G'way, will you?"

"Wait, Spike, you haven't seen my encore," the magician answered.  With his left hand, he reached behind Spike's other ear, and this time, produced a small object for Spike to inspect.

Spike's eyes widened as he looked at the small microchip in the magician's hand.  "You had this lodged in your brain stem for nearly three years, haven't you?"

Spike's jaw dropped at the implications.  If this was true...

"What do you want?" Spike asked.

"What do I want?" the magician laughed, his ominous chuckle echoing past the alley.  "I want you to be true to your nature!"  A cloud of grey mist suddenly enveloped the magician, and when Spike finished blinking the acrid cloud out of her eyes, the magician was gone.  The chip clattered to his feet.

Spike picked up the chip and examined it.  For minutes, for an hour, he gazed at the chip.  Finally, he pocketed the chip, and headed out of the alley.  

Two hours later, as he left the drained body of a prostitute behind him, Spike made plans.  Soon, he would return to Sunnydale.

He contemplated how sweet Buffy's blood would taste.

To be continued in

BITTER BUSINESS


End file.
